


Resurectio

by Femmetac



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alpha John Wick, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, BAMF John Wick, F/M, Post-John Wick (2014), Post-John Wick: Chapter 2 (2017), post-John Wick Parabellum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Femmetac/pseuds/Femmetac
Summary: Her mind sighed the word as it unfurled in her, one almost forgotten in memory: alpha.





	1. Refectio

_A/N: ~~this will likely be a short romp, mainly because I was hankering for an ABO John Wick fic, and this answers the craving~~. Just kidding. This has taken on a life of its own, and apparently there's a whole story that needs telling. It takes place post Parabellum. _

 

 

**Refectio**

 

Deirdre Sullivan yelped as she heard the squealing tires, the wrenching crash just behind her on the street, and dipped into the entryway of the closest storefront. She peeked out around the frame of the stoop, watching as gunfire erupted from the lead vehicle. Like a rabbit she bolted around the side into an alley, the men behind her clearly intent on fighting to the death despite the horrendous collision. One man, in a now totaled Mustang, ducked behind it, using it for cover as he fired off several rounds into the sleek black sedan that had t-boned him just moments ago. Deirdre decided she was still too close, and late as it was, though she would never do it otherwise, she scampered further into the darkness of the alley, tripping over an empty bottle and stumbling around behind a dumpster.

She scarcely dared to breathe, each time gasping out little puffs of white in the chilly air. As she crouched there behind the smelly trash, she heard the one thing she dreaded—limping steps headed her way from the street. The gunman coughed, loping closer. His steps sounded as though he was injured. Deirdre wondered briefly how many bullets he had left, and if he had seen her witness the whole scene. Beyond her she could see the backdoor of a local club, and considered bolting for it to knock until the bouncers came out. But even as his steps creeped closer, she knew she would not have enough time. Maybe she could fight…but she’d never been much of a fighter. Still, he was injured. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could make a break for it. Maybe he didn’t know she was there, and instead came down the alley for some other purpose. If that were true, she could surprise him and catch him off guard enough to spook him, then use the advantage to get clear of the alley and back to the street and then… But he had stopped. No more steps sounded in the alleyway. Had he left? She waited again, as long as she dared, hoping he had moved far enough down the street that she could head the opposite way without his ever noticing.

Timidly she crept from around the dumpster, her breath hitching as she nearly cleared the other side of it. No sooner did she scoot past the end, but strong arms clamped around her from behind. She shrieked girlishly, embarrassed by the sound even as she began to struggle. Deirdre tried kicking with her feet, but could not land a blow _._ The man’s unrelenting arms like steel around her, he held her off the ground by at least a foot. She felt his face come close, almost nuzzling her neck as he sniffed once, deeply. Rather than feeling repulsed, she felt a stirring… he smelled… _familiar_ _._ _Close_ _._ Deirdre breathed, a savory musk of scent on the air. It was him. His breath rasped on her neck and even as a slow, steadying calm stole over her he licked just at the curve of her shoulder. _Ohhh_ _,_ she exhaled, somewhat lightheaded.

“I’m going to put you down,” he said lowly, gravelly voice making her quiver. “Don’t run. I won’t hurt you,” he added quickly.

Her skippering heart slowed to a thud. Deirdre nodded once, barely containing a whimper. Her mind sighed the word as it unfurled in her, one almost forgotten in memory: alpha. She turned, her wide round eyes glancing up to his narrow gaze. Two hanks of hair hung limply over his chiseled features. Bloody and beaten though he was, he was striking. Long and lean. She tried vainly not to look him up and down, but she must have, for he drew himself taller, despite a nasty looking blood spot on his rumpled white shirt.

Overwhelmed, she swayed slightly. He reached for her, steadying her with a bracing hand on her arm. “Let’s get you inside,” he rasped, “you may need the doctor too.”


	2. Hospitem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tentative feelings

_A/N: I am SO incredibly glad to know I wasn't the only one who needed more ABO in the Wickverse. Hope this satiates everyone's appetites! *rawr*_

 

 

**Hospitem**

 

John ushered her into another doorway she had not noticed before--an unobtrusive looking door that may have led straight into the club housed in the same building. However, it only occupied a small corner of that building and was in fact a doctor’s office. John limped in behind her after checking for stray attackers. He nudged her toward a chair and could feel her shivering under her thin jacket. Whether from cold or shock, she needed warming. And since he scented her, he knew she was not only diminutive and timid, but a very _very_ good smelling omega. He tucked her tiny frame into the only wingback chair in the room, sliding off her flats as she gazed up at him with trepidation. Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he draped it around her shoulders as an elderly Asian man shuffled into the room.

“John,” he said as the alpha started unbuttoning his shirt, “you back so soon already! And who is this?”

“She was outside near the gunfight,” he clipped tersely as he stripped the shirt off to reveal a torso oozing blood from an abdominal wound. Deirdre worried her lip as she took in all the other scars and scrapes, old fading bruises mottled in with fresher ones. She moaned softly and retreated back into the chair as they both turned to look at her. “She’s an omega,” John replied, lowering his voice for the doctor as he set about cleaning the wound.

“Omegas should not be out alone this late,” the old man said sotto voce, then turned to her and asked, “why did your family not send someone with you? An omega off birth control attracts too much attention. Bad attention,” he said looking back at John.

“That’s why I brought her,” he muttered, “Any of The Adjudicator’s goons might have taken her had there been any more in the area.”

The feeling of people talking over her pricked a distant, sensitive memory and she remembered a similar discussion from years ago, on the very subject of birth control. She was on the cusp of remembering when John hissed out a breath as the doctor re-stitched a wound that had apparently torn open. She had been in a doctor’s office very different from this one, but the discussion had been about putting her on birth control ‘for her own good.’ It rankled a bit, but since she was too young to speak up and ask then, she took the opportunity now.

“Just what is it about me being on birth control that makes any difference?” she asked, trying to sound stronger than she felt. “And what’s an omega?”

The doctor barely kept the surgical scissors from clattering into the pan as he turned to look her way. John simply looked nonplussed.

It was he who volleyed back with a question of his own, “don’t you know what you are?”

She shifted uncomfortably under their gaze. “No,” she said in a small voice. “I mean, I heard that years ago, but—I don’t know what it means.” She finished on a whisper as the doctor gazed heavenward as if asking for help. John’s brow furrowed.

“Why didn’t your family tell you— _help_ you? Especially when puberty hit—you should have had protection and resources. People you could talk to about it.”

Deirdre was near tears, shaking her head.

“How did _you_ find out, John?” the doctor asked pointedly. “What help were you given?”

“They separated us at the home,” John replied. “Told us our place in the world, our responsibilities as alphas, and that we could be trained to be the best, strongest, and most adaptable fighters. Then they shipped us off to The Director, and she became our mother. Some of the kids even called her Mat, or Gammer. There were even books on alphas and omegas, a few on betas in the theater library.”

The doctor’s shoulders slumped resignedly as he turned on his stool to face her.

“You did not get this in your home. You have no family to protect you, do you? To tell you what dangers there are to omegas out there?” he nodded the answer to his own question before asking a more direct one. “Where did you grow up?”

“Nowhere, everywhere,” she replied tensely, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort. “I aged out of the system years ago.”

“I see,” the old man nodded again, “and if you don’t mind, why did you stop birth control? Weren’t you told what it would do to help protect you?”

Her brow wrinkled and she shook her head sharply. “It doesn’t really matter. I can’t afford it. My insurance won’t cover it anymore and—“

“You must have birth control,” he said rising from his seat and rummaging through a nearby cabinet. “If you have no protection and no family, you cannot run around with your own hormones uninhibited. It will be a beacon for every alpha male and perhaps even some females in your vicinity.”

He surfaced again with one box of what looked like the prescription she started with in high school. “You need the synthetic hormones, because it will inhibit production of your own. It makes your scent unrecognizable because you will smell of the synthetics instead of the natural ones.”

John grumbled a bit at this.

“What if I could get her somewhere safe instead?”

Their heads pivoted towards him, but despite him asking the doctor, he was looking at Deirdre. She blushed scarlet and ducked her head.

“Where do you work?” he asked, for over the course of their discussion, one thing became very clear. This slip of a woman had no one, she smelled absolutely divine, and needed help, protection, someone. And she was not yet mated.

John sent up a silent prayer of apology to Helen, for though he had loved her, she was a beta. As compatible and loving as they had been, he had never been so enamored with someone at first blush as this wispy thing curled under his jacket. When she raised her eyes to his again, he knew there was no way he would let anything happen to her, and he certainly would not leave her unprotected and unspoken for.

“I—I work in a call center?” she said helplessly. “We do tech support in some centers and customer service in others.”

“Tell them you’re going to need a leave of absence,” John stated. And for someone she just met, Deirdre was somewhat astonished at how strong her desire was to comply.

The doctor nodded wordlessly. Though a beta himself, his medical training had included the demands and peculiarities of these two rare sections of the population. She needed a mate, he reasoned to himself, and left this unspoken. Or rather, he left it for John to explain. As he so obviously was her match. This one thought he did vocalize, and left John nodding in understanding, “you must get her out of the city. If anyone under the High Table knows you have an omega…”


	3. Conflat per Nexum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whisked away

_A/N: what better way to ride out a thunderstorm than a slow burn romance between these two. Ugh! This is such a sweet one to write._

**Conflat per Nexum**

John called someone named Aurelio to bring another car and take his to be repaired. Deirdre was frankly astonished that he would bother trying to fix the old muscle car at all, but he seemed content enough as he ushered her into the passenger side of a Dodge Challenger with a hulking blue pit bull seated on a blanket in the back.

“Meet Dog,” John said gruffly as he slid behind the wheel.

Deirdre reached a tentative hand out that Dog snuffled at warily, then licked and nudged with his bulky head.

“I guess you want pets,” she said liltingly, and promptly started petting. _Always wanted a dog_ , she thought longingly.

“So what is your actual name?” he asked over his shoulder while she scratched and rubbed at the dog’s ears.

“Deirdre,” she replied shyly. “Is the dog’s name actually Dog though?”

“I haven’t settled on a name yet, Deirdre,” he replied, trying out the sound of her name on his tongue.

“Where are we going?” she said, sitting back in the seat at last.

“I have a safe—place in the Catskills.” He bit off the word _safehouse_ , but she must be wondering…

“Why were those men after you?” _And why do you look so beat up_ , she wanted to ask.

John took a deep breath and glanced over. She was still wearing his jacket, which was a good sign. He simultaneously shrugged and winced as though the effort hurt him. Not for the first time, Deirdre wondered exactly how extensive his injuries really were.

And then he told her. Everything—his work, his wife, the blood debt, Santino cashing it in, and all the fallout that came with that. As he talked, they glided right out of Chinatown on Canal Street and up along the harbor. Right when she thought they would take the Lincoln Tunnel, John pulled onto a ferry. By the time he finished his tale he was hoarse. Deirdre sat silent as she watched the scenery outside the window. It took several twists and turns through Jersey, not only to make sure they weren’t followed, but to wind their way back into New York, upstate this time, and wind their way into the Catskill Mountains.

Feeling as though she should say something, Deirdre glanced over. He was gripping the wheel like a life preserver, but he must have felt her eyes on him because he glanced back, met her gaze for a moment before returning his attention to the road. She said the first thing that came to her mind.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Yeah,” he ground out.

The tense, awkward silence that sat between them felt like an actual entity, thick and heavy. He could not stand the worried expression as she glanced around to the nowhere scene that stretched beyond the car on either side.

“I don’t want you to fear me—“

“I don’t know why it is that I felt so compelled to come with you—“

“I know you just met me, I’m sorry that you’re even getting drug peripherally into this, but—“

“I’ve never felt this pull about anyone in my life, and I feel like you didn’t choose this life—“

“I didn’t! I wouldn’t—but there are still things I have to do. And I don’t want anyone to come after you because of me—“

“I know you want me out of the way, but—“

“Not just out of the way from anyone associated with the High Table, but any alphas. I just—“

And then she realized. He was being possessive and protective of her, because somehow he already thought of her as his. It wasn’t pity for the orphaned girl who had no one, because he was one in the same there. It wasn’t a predatory thing, because he could have done anything to her by now. He felt the pull just as strongly as she.

“Alphas,” he struggled to continue, “—the thing you have to understand about alphas—is that we want to possess—some to dominate—I’m not saying this right…” he took a hand off the wheel to run through his hair.

“I trust you.”

He glanced over again.

“You do?”

“Yes,” she said simply.

“I have no right to ask that—or anything of you really. This sounds crazy, I mean, we just met—“

“I feel it too though.”

One more glance over. He wanted to pull her to him and stroke her hair, feeling her heat as they drove further into the burgeoning light of day. She felt the weight of his gaze and longed to climb into his lap and sink further into his scent. It permeated the car, with a slight tinge of Dog’s mingled in with it. No wonder Dog had an affinity for his master, Deirdre realized, he was the pack leader. A good one.

John’s eyes crinkled into a tenuous smile, the faintest trace of one that brought some color back to his cheeks. How desperately she wanted to blot the blood off that scratch over his eye. He looked like a prize fighter, and she knew if necessary, he would fight for her.

“So what are we going to get into up here?” she queried, trying to steer into a safer subject. She feared she had said something wrong when his features darkened again.

“I can’t stay here long actually,” he said tensing up again. “Just need to mend my wounds here a little bit and get you settled, but I still have some…unfinished business.”

She dared not ask what. Instead she wanted to soothe and curl into him, say something else that would make that crease disappear between his eyes again.

“Well,” she said, drawing it out, “we’ll see where we are when all this is over?”

The hope she felt was mirrored in his eyes when he finally looked over again.

“Yeah.”


	4. Insidunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> settling in

_A/N: Longer chapter yay! But with some triggering content (boo), both for abandonment, foster care issues, and sexual assault._

**Insidunt**

 

Deirdre expected to find a quaint little cabin in the mountains, and she even allowed herself the briefest fantasy of cocoa or cider by a wood burning stove with white drifts of snow outside when winter fully hit. _But would John still be there_ , she wondered. As the car snaked its way up the drive, the sight of the house at last broke her reverie, for it was not at all as she expected. A large two-story home eclipsed the small clearing, spearing up out of the ground with deep gray stone like a statuesque matron surprised out of her solitude. It was a stately home, with large pines on either side, and a small front porch graced by simple columns leading to a Gothic arch overhead.

John lurched out of the car once he drew it into an attached garage, stalking around to her side, but not in enough time to help her out. They walked quickly under a connecting breezeway, Dog trotting along behind them, for up here the chill had already gotten that much worse than down in the valley.

“I’ve got a deep freezer just inside the mudroom here,” John said as he slid a key out from behind the door frame and opened the door for them. There was a slight musty chill, and not a little bit of dust, but as he walked out of the mudroom and into the kitchen flicking switches as he went to check if any circuits had been tripped, Deirdre followed slowly behind, her fingers curled into the sleeves of his jacket, which she still wore. “I’ll have to run into the nearest town, get some supplies and stock all that up, but there are still dry goods in here from last winter…should still be good,” he trailed off through the first floor, light switches still clicking as each room became suffused with light.

This was a comfortable space, and way roomier than she expected. Rather than the wood burning stove she’d hoped for, Deirdre found a large open fireplace at one end of the kitchen, deep enough and with a still intact cooking crane, that one could make meals over it. Catty corner to it sat a more modern gas stove. The next room beyond the kitchen was the living area with a far nicer stonework fireplace flanked by scroll work under an arched mantel. Likely once up on a time the sitting room, for it opened onto the front porch. At the end of the sitting room, a dividing wall closeted off a small office area, complete with bookshelves flanking yet another fireplace and a window seat overlooking the woods. An escritoire sat facing the fireplace, with an armchair and ottoman between. Rugs covered stone floors throughout, and it gave Deirdre the distinct feel of being in a rather diminutive castle.

“This house is amazing,” she breathed, as she met up with John at the base of the stairs.

“It belonged to my wife’s family, and since they were all gone, I inherited when she passed. It makes it easier because that means the entire Undertable does not know this is even here. But here,” he said, proffering a thick duvet that he’d pulled out of a closet space under the stairs. “You may want this for nesting”

He voiced it almost as a question, and Deirdre tilted her head wondering how he could know of her tendency to do this. She took it timidly, wishing there were more of his scent on it and around, but also wondering where she might find a good place to snug herself into with pillows and blankets. She’d used her closet at her apartment as best she could.

“Thank you,” she said, “this must be another omega thing…”

“It’s actually very common,” he said encouragingly, then added almost hopefully, “if you’d like some things of mine, you’re welcome to them. I have a few here. And I’m sorry I don’t really have anything to fit you, but there are some catalogs we could use for ordering. We didn’t really have time to stop and pick up anything of yours, but there’s a grocery close to town for anything you might need otherwise.”

There were a few sentimental items she would dearly miss, but the sad fact was that Deirdre actually owned very little.

“I mean, naturally I need some toiletries, but nothing I had would’ve been warm enough here anyway. Could I—um—wear anything of yours?”

The light that suffused his face at her question was enough of an answer.

“I’ll grab you a couple of shirts if you want to test out the shower, then maybe we’ll run into town for some groceries.”

The one shower at the top of the stairs creaked and clanged, flushing a slight amount of rust from ancient pipes before it rain clear and hot. Deirdre was so grateful she let out an audible moan when she felt the first rush of water sluice over her sore muscles and tried not to think of him under the spray with her. Already?? She marveled at the strength of her attraction to a man she just met the night prior. She had heard about animal magnetism, but never had she dreamed of something so unrelenting and strong. Love at first sight as a concept was a myth, she reasoned, something you told yourself when you were young about that first flush of infatuation that inevitably faded. As she lathered up her fingertips brushed over several scars over her shoulder and chest that resembled slash marks—scratches in fact, from her first ever encounter with a male alpha. The memories came pouring back now, snaking in with the discussion from last night.

 

_Malachi knocking on her door, demanding her to let him in. Her not wanting to let him in, but feeling compelled to comply._

_“Some alphas demand…”_

_Opening the door just a crack to tell him to leave her alone, then landing in a lump on the floor when he slammed his way through and lunged at her. Grappling, then freezing as his hands tore at her shirt and the bra she had just been allowed to start wearing. Shrieking for help while trying to shield herself, and the shame…the horrific shame of seeing her foster mother framed in the doorway, bellowing at them both as though she were guilty as well. Just as his attention was diverted, bringing her knee up and scrambling away when he rolled over clutching himself, growling at her for daring to hurt him._

_“She’ll have to be put on birth control for her own good. Why is it not in your report that your son is an alpha?” “Doctor, I am an alpha, and as such, I can control my son.” “She’s at too much risk to be in a home with a teenage alpha; and frankly, if you could control him 24/7 this wouldn’t have happened. He nearly marked her.”_

_Stuffing all of her things, plus a new box of birth control pills, into a trash bag and shuffling back to the home._

_“They didn’t want to keep you huh? Me neither.” “Their son was an alpha, whatever that means.” “Are you an omega?? Basically if any man wants you, they can have you. Omegas are the lowest and the easiest.” “They are not, shut up!” “Yeah, they are. I’m a beta, but I read everything about alphas and omegas too. Alphas are the highest order, and they mate with omegas for life.”_

 

The thought of that sent chills down her spine. Luckily her foster mother had torn Malachi away from her in time. But was all mating like that? Would John be when—if, she corrected—if the time came that they…mated?

John was waiting at the bottom of the stairs with a towel and a set of clothes when she came down smelling of his shower gel and wearing and old set of sweats, pooling a bit around the fitted ankles and no less arousing what with her scent mingling with his own and her burnished hair now a warm honeyed color for being damp. He swallowed thickly, wanting to peel the clothes off her and carry her straight back up the stairs to either bedroom and lay her across the quilts, claiming her fully at last. But he knew she needed time, both to acclimated herself to him, the house, the entire situation, and decide fully if she wanted him as much as he did her. He wanted so strongly to rut, but that urge paled in comparison for a mating, which went much much deeper than a knot and some cuddling. For the first time, he wanted to let someone in, something he had not even done with… _her_.

Dog nudged his leg, snapping him out of staring at her.

“My turn I guess,” he said, his voice gone husky from want. Her lips parted as if to say something, her chest heaving slightly as if breathing was a struggle for her too, but he simply nodded and traipsed as quickly as he could getting his sore, aching body up the stairs. A shower might be just what he needed right now, but he was definitely going to blast it cold.


	5. Domesticitatem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the comforts

_A/N: Another weekend, another chapter! Thanks for continuing to read. :)_ __

**Domesticitatem**

In the end, after pacing with the duvet he gave her and on a full belly of chili, Deirdre settled on two and a half nests...with a problem. She had a nice comfy bed with throw pillows and a pretty blue quilt, but she really wanted John’s bed, with John’s smell, and John in it. She’d hardly admit such just yet, but her nose rankled at the feminine smell that still lingered there. Sensing as much, John had taken it upon himself to launder the bedding there that evening while the chili was simmering. Until that was ready—and until she knew she was welcomed in it—Deirdre had to make do instead with a snuggly burrow in her own bed. She shaped the bed pillows and throw pillows around like a soft bunker, then lay the borrowed sweatpants there since she had her own jeans back on. It would have to do for now.

Next, Deirdre sheepishly fluffed her main nest in the closet space under the stairs. John mortified her by making a Harry Potter joke about it until he remembered when her face suddenly flushed scarlet that she too was an orphan. But Deirdre had carried the duvet around the house, noting scents and textures of fabrics, coziness of the space, and eventually wanted to try there. So he kissed the top of her head and apologized before opening the door and removing the shelves there, along with a treasure trove of sheets, blankets, towels, and other small pillows. As a peace offering, he gave her another shirt—flannel this time—that she happily wrapped around a larger pillow and placed in her closet nest. His suit jacket, which she refused to let him launder, made its new home in the window seat with a plush chenille throw she found on the couch. Its deep gold color mirrored many of the leaves outside. She threw in a roll pillow in addition to the two already there, and unclasped the tie-back curtains to shield it from view. So there it was, a nest for sleeping, a nest for reading, and a nest for…safety?

They were all safe, really, secure-feeling small spaces in tucked away places. She was not quite sure why she liked the closet space, or why she felt the need to make and fluff a nest, except for the security she felt. But she did find something that may help her. Up in the top of the furthest book case, Deirdre discovered an entire row of books on alphas and omegas, including a few on romancing an omega. One she found titled _Dominance and Submission_ even seemed downright tantalizing from what she gleaned skimming through it. That one she tucked under the pillow in her bed nest for nighttime reading. _Know Your Omega_ had promise too, for her to finally understand her own nature even though it appeared to be written by an alpha. _Finally_ , she thought, _some answers about who I am_. For there had never been anyone to ask.

And slowly, without realizing, Deirdre found herself enshrouded in a little bubble of contentment. Until it was bedtime. She snugged herself as well as she could down in her bed, in just his sweatshirt and a pair of panties. It was similar, but not quite as good she assumed, as sleeping surrounded by him. But in the still quiet of night, she finally started to drift off. Until she heard it. Somewhere out in the deep forest that surrounded the house, it sounded like…she strained to see if she could hear it again. There it was! A shrill screech rent the air, closer this time. Deirdre kicked off the covers in a blind panic that drove her out the door and down the hall to John’s room. She raced across the room even as he bolted up in bed, cleared the last four feet, and nearly landed squarely in his lap, quivering.

“There’s someone out there!” she cried, her voice trembling.

She felt something cold against her thigh and jerked before she realized he had his gun in his hand already.

“Someone—where?!” he was halfway out of bed already and crossing to the door.

“Outside my room! I mean—I heard out the window,” she stammered, trying to fight back the panic. “A woman screamed.”

John half turned as if confused. “Screamed?”

In the dim light, as his eyes adjusted he saw her nod mutely. Still on edge, but with a slowly dawning suspicion, he walked down the hall with his weapon at low ready. If anyone was there he was prepared, but John surmised that it might not be as big a threat as she thought.

Deirdre cowered shamefully, craning her neck to see through the darkened doorway and straining again to hear what she heard before. Dimly she heard it again, and braced herself for the crack of the gunshot, hoping John had a clear view to save whoever it was. Unless…but she did not really believe in ghosts…did she?

No sooner had a new panic bloomed, then John traipsed back through the door with his gun held casually at his side. He propped a hip on the side of the bed closest to her and clicked the lamp on. She blinked blearily up at him expectantly.

“That wasn’t a woman you heard,” he said at last, trying valiantly not to smile. Mortification tickled at the back of her throat, but she ventured the question anyway.

“What was it?” her cheeks burned already when he smiled fully now, indulgently.

“A wildcat,” he said, placing the gun on the bedside table. “They’re fairly common up here in the mountains, and their call sounds like a screech or scream. Owls can sound like it too. Even the coyotes sometimes.” He traced a finger over her brow and tucked a stray strand behind her ear even as she dipped her head. “It’s okay, it frightens a lot of people who have never heard it before.”

She was almost insulted. Except it felt so good being comforted and the bed smelled like nothing but him now. Deirdre looked up at him from under her lashes and wanted to ask, but couldn’t. As if he read her mind, John said, “why don’t you sleep in here tonight? Do you think you’d be more comfortable that way, until you’re used to the place?”

 _Used to?_ She clutched at the phrase, understanding that he meant not only tonight, but until she was settled in. He caught the flicker of hope on her face and nodded silently, knowingly. “You want a couple more pillows?” She nodded quickly and hugged him tightly when her throat threatened to close up on her. Her eyes filled, and she was glad for the dark even though she knew he likely heard her snuffle the tears back. “I’ll run and grab those, but I need the bathroom first,” he said. _Because if I don’t clean the pipes now, it will be one long miserable night_ , he finished in his head.

When he came back, he watched as she fussed for a few minutes fluffing and rearranging. She glanced sheepishly over as he crawled close to her and opened his arms a little in silent invitation. Without a word, she scooted right up and draped an arm over his side, tucking her head into his chest as he pulled her close and pressed his lips to her hair. Both of them sighed contentedly and drifted off comfortably draped around each other.


	6. Rubiconem Suum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do my old school fanfic writers remember what a lemon is? ^-^

_A/N: I had one more chapter in me, and I just had to get this out! You’ll see why it’s so long…_

**Rubiconem Suum**

She woke slowly, lazily, enveloped in warm. Dog, who had been knocked out entirely during her nighttime encounter, lay snoring from a distant corner of the room.

Deirdre snuggled deeper, only moving as much as she dared. John pumped out so much heat that she felt it in the tips of her toes and longed to sigh and stretch, turning into his cozy embrace. The niggling worry crept in though that he was merely humoring her since her little escapade the night before. So, not wanting to break the spell, she lay there quietly listening to his easy breathing and waited as long as she could before she had to ease out from under his grasp and go pee. When she came back, she creeped as stealthily as she could, wanting to ease right back under his arm, only to freeze with her hand outstretched when he cocked one eye open to look at her and smiled blearily.

“Come on back to the warm spot,” he said, his voice husky from sleep, “it’s my turn.” And he slid out, traipsing over to the door, with his baggy t-shirt not clingy enough for her to see the lean muscle she knew she’d felt, and his pajama pants slouching treasonously on his hips. She wanted them to give up entirely and stretched languidly, wondering just what he had in that deep blue fleece. The little liquid pull in her belly told her that she’d better control her thoughts though, as he did not seem nearly as interested in her. Sure, he felt protective, but alphas dominated and demanded, took what they wanted without asking...didn’t they? Maybe she wasn’t omega enough for him. Was it only pity he felt for her?

Some of that must have registered on her face, for he took her back in his arms when he returned, only turning her to face him instead. He tugged on her hair just enough to have her raising her head to look at him as he lay there next to her, face to face, letting his warmth seep into her once more. “What’s got you worried?” he asked perceptively.

The thought of her being so easy to read bothered her a bit, and she mumbled, “I don’t know.”

He gave the slightest yank to her hair, and she gasped softly, surprised at his forcefulness. He was still alpha, she reminded herself, and she still had to be mindful. The smallest flicker of fear must have flitted across her face, for he eased his grip. “Tell me,” he urged, but under the softness, there was a steel core. And she felt the urge to comply, as simultaneously a little wetness oozed between her legs.

“You seem to know exactly what I’m thinking,” she could not quite keep the petulance out of her voice. “I don’t know what you want with me… I—“

Realization dawned on him, and a slow smiled crept across his features.

“Make no mistake,” he said, reinforcing the subtle grip he had on the back of her head. “I _do_ want you. But you seem like you have not had many good encounters with people, maybe even alphas. And it intrigues me that you haven’t been mated yet. I figure there’s a story there, but you’ll tell it when you’re ready. So until you’re ready, I’m thinking I’ll wait. Is there anything else I missed?”

Her mouth made a little _O_ of understanding. He wanted her comfortable enough to trust him. What a strange alpha! Unless…other alphas are more like him, she thought. Coming to think of it, no one had ever gone after her like Malachi had. Surely there were others who had scented her before?

“Whatever it is,” he urged again, a stern tilt to his head. She hesitated.

 _ASK ME_.

Deirdre gasped aloud and braced both hands on his chest as his voice sounded in her head. She felt the compulsion to say what she was thinking, but the first thing that came out was, “how did you do that??”

It only confirmed something else he was thinking.

“Am I the first alpha you’ve ever experienced at all? Has no one really tried to claim you?”

“I—well…” she felt the flush rising, and the old shame with it.

TELL ME.

“I was—almost--,” her voice wobbled, and understanding dawned on him.

John’s eyes glinted a sharp, molten chocolate and darkened perceptibly.

“Who hurt you,” he ground out.

“It was—a boy—the foster home I was in—his mom caught us right when he came at me,” she choked out, determined to make him understand that though she had felt compelled to give in, she hadn’t wanted…

John gripped her shoulders, “what did he do,” he asked more gently, that urging softness with the steel core returned to his voice.

“He attacked. Came through the door, I didn’t want him, but…” she trailed off, not knowing how to explain.

“Did he use the alpha command, like I did?”

She looked up, bewildered.

“The urging that you hear in your head. Did he do that?”

She shook her head.

“What did he do?”

“He—he,” she gulped, “he tackled me and clawed me, trying to rip my clothes. I struggled, I did. And then his mom came in and pulled him off me. I had to go to the hospital because the scratch marks wouldn’t stop bleeding. And CPS came to the hospital and took me away. They said I couldn’t be in a home with an alpha teenager.” She finished lamely, not knowing what else to say.

John nodded grimly, “his mother had no right putting you in that kind of danger.”

“My social worker said she didn’t want m—she just wanted the paycheck.”

“Did he actually claim you?”

“The social worker??”

“The boy.”

She looked at him, completely nonplussed. “He didn’t…he didn’t _rape_ me.” She said it as an urgent whisper.

John shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Did he _bite_ you?”

Deirdre reared her head back and looked at him as if to ask if he were joking. He seemed completely sincere.

“No.”

John’s eyes softened and he all but crushed her to him. “Okay, okay,” he said now, stroking her hair. “Even if he had done either, if you rejected the mating it would not hold. But as it is, he has no claim on you whatsoever.”

“What if he had?” she wondered quietly.

“Then I’d have to revoke his claim,” John said firmly, pulling back to look down at her.

She knew not to ask what he meant, and was not entirely sure that he wouldn’t still, somehow. She felt the need to somehow mollify him however, so she added, “I do know he’s in Sing Sing now. They didn’t press charges when he attacked me, but they revoked my foster mom’s certification because she hadn’t told them her son was an alpha. I found out a few years later that he attacked someone else, and since he was an adult he went to prison. He’s still there. Apparently it was pretty brutal.”

John made a mental note to find out how long it would be before the little shit got out. Until then, he was fine where he was.

He caught her worrying her lip and rubbed his thumb across it instead. She glanced back up at him and he smiled reassuringly. “Sounds like we both need some time to know what to expect from each other, and sweetheart, I’d be way more tempted to show you how I feel now if I didn’t need to heal up better first.”

John looked down at his belly, and Deirdre realized that he was in no condition to take her yet even if he wanted to. But he was right as well—they really didn’t know each other well enough, and what he was describing sounded…well…permanent.

“Do alphas and omegas mate for life?”

He smiled. “Typically. Unless it’s a case like your little punk and then they usually wind up prison with an omega victim who may go unmated if she can’t find one who can suit. Compatibility is important, but not vital. Sometimes an alpha will set himself up with a wounded omega just because he has never found another one to suit. Wounded omegas take time and patience to heal. I think I sensed that in you a bit, too, not as bad as it could be. But you and I…Deirdre, what I feel is not only a compulsion to heal your spirit. Your scent,” he paused a moment to breathe it in, “is almost intoxicating.”

The molten look was back in his eyes, this time without the ferocity from before.

 Her lips parted at the flagrant desire in his gaze.

“I can’t give you everything I want to right now,” he said, the gravelly tone back in his voice, “but I can show you some of what I feel.”

With that he fisted a hand in her hair, causing her to gasp yet again. She found herself flattened to the bed, the weight of his scorching body pinning her as his mouth fused to hers. Her hands scrabbled at his arms as they flexed, and she felt that liquid pull again down low, her own heat tamping up to match his, straight from her core. He claimed her mouth, with swipes of tongue and a clash of teeth before pulling back to nibble at that bottom lip of hers--the one that she liked to worry so when she was anxious. His hands raked over her sides, palming across her breasts as she moaned and writhed underneath him. Deirdre felt her knees drawing up around him and she bucked once, uncontrollably when his hands snaked under the sweatshirt and up to strip it off. Gasping again, she almost made to cover up when he dragged the sweatshirt away, exposing the white flesh of breasts and peaks of rosy nipples, but he grabbed her wrists and held them beside her shoulders while he moved in with his hot greedy mouth to lave at first one, then the other. Her feet slid back and forth on the bed, scrabbling for purchase as he stoked the fire more.

Releasing her hands, John slid down the bed and nipped at the inside of her thigh causing her to cry out. He ripped her panties down past her knees and used both palms to hold her thighs out, stopping only a moment to lick his lips slowly at her now slick sex open to his fervent gaze. He flicked his eyes up to hers as he lowered his mouth, watching her watching him. Maintaining that contact, he licked a broad swipe up across that lush wetness to the now throbbing nub at the apex above.

“Oh my g--,” she choked on the rest as he dipped back in again and started plunging his tongue into her, a lazy thumb sliding up to stroke and thrum over her clit. She started bucking in earnest now, her hips rocking against his torturous tongue as he brought her so close. His fingers flexed against her thigh, forcing it wide when the first waves of orgasm hit her, causing her to flex tight as a bow, her body arced into a tight cord of quivering flesh. Deirdre screamed as he nipped there _there_ and sent her over the edge into abandon with a rush of wetness. Just as she started to descend back to earth, she realized how very wet she was. And mortification set in once again.

“Oh my god—did I,” she could not even finish the sentence, “I’m so sorry!” she turned her face into the pillow. Oh my god, she thought, did I really??

John chuckled darkly against her clit, and she felt it across her labia and straight into the aftershocks of her core. “I take it you’ve never come that hard before.”

“Not so hard that I just… _peed_?”

John rolled over on his back and laughed so hard he clutched his side as a frisson of pain shot across his stitches. Deirdre sat up on her elbows, insulted that he would actually laugh and even more embarrassed than ever.

“That’s not what that is,” he gasped, “apparently you’re a squirter. And frankly,” he said, licking his lips, “you’re a tasty one.” He continued to chuckle until a pillow _fwopped_ him in the face, then he only laughed harder, once again clutching his side. It was a great sound.

“Oh for crying out loud,” she groused nonetheless, “don’t tear anything.”

He wiped tears from his eyes, and pulled her onto his chest to get her out of the wet spot. “Baby girl,” he purred, “I will do everything I can to keep you coming that hard every time.”

Hearing that just made her want to lay back and splay herself for him again. It sent chills right down to her toes.

“You really have only ever been with betas,” he said with such self-satisfaction that she could hear the smirk.

“I’m guessing alphas are always this assured of their skills,” she sassed back, earning a playful swat on her butt cheek.

“It’s because most of us are damned good at it, and we know it.”

 


	7. Beatitudine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A much needed talk

**Beatitudine**

 

 

They settled into each other and into an easy enough routine of prep work before John’s departure, which loomed before them. In order for John to leave her with enough supplies to get through the winter if necessary. Stocking the deep freezer, buying two cords of wood just in case, gas for the generator, even oil for the hurricane lamps they found over the washer and dryer. She had plenty of warm clothes, supplemented by things she had appropriated from John’s closet. They took trips into town and found a diner near the grocery store that they loved, took walks in the woods to get Deirdre acquainted with the land sprawling out behind the house, enough to tell deer trails from hiking trails. But more, she was surprised one day when John took her into the library and pushed a button on one of the bookcases that slid a panel out from a false bottom of one shelf, lined with guns and ammunition.

“I want you to be ready, just in case,” he told her. He didn’t mention what the contingency was that she would need to use a gun without him, and she didn’t ask. But he took her out to a clearing maybe a quarter mile from the house, taught her never to aim it at anything but the ground or the target, reminded her to treat it always as if it was loaded, and then began the basics of how to shoot. “There are four things you need to know,” he outlined, “steady position, proper sight picture, breath control, and trigger squeeze—and best if you have it down in that order.”

He showed her how to stand, how to hold it, how to pause in that space between exhale and the next inhale, and then the slow stable squeeze. Time and again they drilled the movements, the breath, the squeeze, until they tried it with bullets the first time. The shotgun they used gave her bruises from the recoil, but she learned to pull it back into the cup of her shoulder and fire straight. By the end of that week, she was knocking cans off branches far into the tree line, and John declared her a crack shot, while silently and fervently hoping that she never needed to fire the gun again. No one under the table knew she existed, or that this place was here, he reminded himself. She was safe. But still, he taught her to take it apart, clean it, and put it together again.

Yet as the days passed, and he’d long since removed his stitches, John knew that their time together was winding to a close. Soon he would have to leave. Before he did though, they desperately needed to talk. He had little more than a week left to heal. The bruises were gone, but as much as he felt better, there was something niggling at his nerves and she seemed to sense it. Two days in a row she seemed weepy, and hid in her reading nest nearly the whole day, reading and absorbing all the books she’d secured of his on alpha and omega dynamics. But there was something else too that he knew was coming. There was nothing else for it—they _had_ to talk.

Deirdre was reading once again after a long morning of shooting. She had made them both turkey clubs for lunch while he simmered a tomato soup on the stove, but she scooted out just after doing the dishes to try and read some more. Yesterday John had given her some space, even though he was sure he heard sniffling from behind the curtain. But today was the second day in a row, and he felt a pang of sorrow that his little omega might be ailing.

“Mind if I come in?” he asked from outside the curtain.

More snuffling and a slight rustling told him that he was correct, but worse, when she peeked out to see him, her eyes were still puffy and her nose was red. “I thought something was up,” he said, gesturing at the other half of the window seat as if to ask permission. She nodded lamely and sniffed. “Anything I can help with,” he asked, taking a seat by the other end, while she curled up against her pillows with the throw on her lap. She held a smaller pillow in her lap with his old suit jacket wrapped around it and he took comfort in the fact that even if she didn’t seek him out for calming, she at least found his scent reassuring enough.

“No, it’s just…things.”

“What things?” he prompted, already wanting to soothe and placate.

Deirdre looked, if possible, even more disturbed at having no recourse but to explain. This was no good, he thought, she’s supposed to want to confide in her alpha…yet instead she waved her hands dismissively and ducked her head again.

“You know… _girl_ stuff,” she finished with an agonized flush.

Finally he cottoned on. “You’re on your period? I know. But are you—cramping badly? Hurting? Sore? Need chocolate? Wine? What?”

“You _know_?” she said, so mortified her voice cracked a bit. All she wanted now was to burrow with the throw over her head and face the window. Oh god, _why_ did he know this and how embarrassing!

“Well yeah,” he replied, nonplussed. “Tampon wrappers in the trash are a dead giveaway. You were…not a _little_ crabby a couple days ago. Besides…your scent is a little different. You know that changes over the course of a month, right?”

“I might have read something like that,” she mumbled.

“So…that actually leads into something I wanted to talk about. But does it really bother you that I know you’re cycling?” he wanted to know. He hadn’t exactly had sisters, but the girls he trained with talked about their cycles incessantly it seemed and always got crabbier _en_ _masse_ when they synced up. It was a nightmare. One woman wasn’t so bad. _Twelve though_ , he shuddered.

“I guess not,” she sighed. She couldn’t remember when she had ever discussed her bodily functions with anyone other than maybe a friend or the school nurse. Her period completely panicked her the first time it showed. “What does it have to do with what you wanted to talk about?”

“Well, I don’t know how much reading you’ve been doing, or what your experience has been really with your heats…”

“My…” _oh_. She had read enough to know how compelling her heat would be to him and how it would force a rut in an alpha male. Some of the anecdotes on what happened during an omega heat cycle matched with an alpha in full rut made for some very interesting bath time reading. She wondered how he would be—if he would seem as rabid as Malachi had been, or if he would use the alpha voice on her. He hadn’t used it since, but it made her languid and willing to say or do just about anything. Already her belly quivered just thinking about it. They hadn’t truly had sex yet, and she wondered why he seemed to be holding back, or if it was all just because he was healing.

“That comes right after…” she trailed off as it dawned on her how incredibly close she was to going into heat. Did he know too? Or sense it? _Smell_ it?

“It does,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “And once it hits, you’ll be at my mercy so to speak. If you have that _Know Your Omega_ book, I’m sure it told you exactly how much our hormones take over—for both of us. There won’t be any reasoning with either one of us, or not much anyway. Basically honey, it gets pretty intense for both of us. I know you’ve been scared before and it might be pretty triggering…so if you’re not ready to be with a full alpha in rut…I’ll leave before it hits you. You’ll be…safer that way.”

It took several seconds for his words to sink in, and in that time she ran an entire range of emotions. He watched all of them flit across her face. Amazement at what he was offering, doubt, worry, more doubt. He latched onto the doubt, to try to assuage that.

“It’s not that I’d ever do what he did. It’s even been proven scientifically that alphas can control themselves in the presence of an omega heat—it’s hard, but we do it every day in the real world. It’s shitty alphas like the one that found you who give the rest of us a bad name. It’s just that—we _do_ get more demanding and downright horny, and you can wind up…sore.”

He didn’t want to say “hurt,” because he didn’t want to truly frighten her, but she needed to know this was not something to trifle with.

“And it tends to be…permanent. Once an alpha and omega run through a heat/rut cycle together, they generally bond for good. It’s a true mating, right down to the bite. I may not even be able to control myself there. Not in the heat of it all. Have you read—“

“Yes,” she said abruptly. “I have and I know what you’re saying.”

She met his gaze, with her lip in her teeth.

“Sweetheart, it’s not just the mating and the bite,” he continued urgently, “you could get pregnant from this. Even the first time.”

Deirdre dropped her eyes at this pronouncement. It was something she had already considered, all of it. Becoming his, what that might entail, having his children and bearing him a family. What kind a father he might be, what kind of a husband…

“I want a family,” she said softly, not daring to look up. “I always have.”

His fingers came into her line of sight, fingertips raising her chin until she locked eyes with him again.

“It may put you all in even more danger if anyone ever finds you.”

“Then I’ll keep up practicing when you’re gone, until you’re back.”


	8. Quantum Unitum Est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may have killed me.
> 
> Warnings for..."yeahhh" as John would say

**Quantum Unitum Est**

If there was one thing they did not discuss, it was why Deirdre cried. To be fair, she had some unruly hormones, but that’s what finally tipped her over the edge. The more John solidified his plans, the more morose she got. When he left one day to drop the trash at the dumpster and pick up some more provisions in town, she took the opportunity to fill the old claw foot tub as full as she could with tepid water. It was an old trick that one of her foster mothers showed her for bringing down a fever, and for the life of her, she could not get cool enough. She even tried taking Dog for a walk in the brisk wind, hoping it would help calm her jangling nerves as well. Nothing worked, and she had a niggling suspicion that she really knew why, but steadfastly tried to ignore it. Briefly, she thought about taking _Dominance and Submission_ with her, but opted instead for the terry cloth robe she’d found in a closet somewhere and a pair of John’s old socks.

As she slid her heated body into the slightly chilled water, she sucked in a breath even as she heard Dog _humph_ and thump to the floor outside the bathroom. He’d taken to posting sentry whenever John was gone, and John already told her that when he left, he would leave Dog behind to stand watch. Frankly, it rankled right now that he was outlining measures for how she would live without him. Every time she watched him while he was consumed by the task at hand, she saw his guarded features looking grim and resigned, and knew that if she tried to talk him out of leaving it would do no good. He would still go. Her eyes watered again, and Deirdre flopped dejectedly down into the water, trying to douse her head while her knees buckled and she planted her feet on the wall by the faucet.

She thought about going to him, climbing on his lap and somehow seducing him into staying. But she’d never been a woman to know how to use her whiles and manipulate a man into getting what she wanted. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t touched her in so long now—maybe she didn’t really know what she was doing, and he was used to a woman who knew how. His wife had been a beta, after all. Deirdre herself _humphed_ this time and rolled to the side in the bath, the water doing nothing to slake the heat and the vague itch that she just could not pinpoint, much less scratch. _Where was John?_

No sooner did she think this, then she heard the door downstairs open and close, and heard Dog whimper, heaving his massive girth up to trot down the steps. _Finally_ , she thought, as a mild cramp rolled across her belly. She needed him up here to hold her and tell her everything would be fine. _Alpha_ , that inner voice whispered plaintively. _Alpha needs to comfort_. And with that, for the first time ever, she involuntarily whined. As soon as the sound slipped out, she clapped a hand over her mouth and sucked in a breath. She heard the footsteps downstairs stop, just as she got the scent of John from that breath and let out an all too loud whimper.

Scrambling to pull the stopper, clambering over the side of the tub in a most ungraceful _fwump_ , Deirdre grabbed at the robe and towel both as she heard John rushing up the stairs and…into the bedroom? But he was back in an instant, just outside the bathroom.

“Deirdre,” he called lowly, “are you alright sweetheart?”

It was all she could do to pull herself upright and twist the knob to pop the door open. The second it was unlocked, it swung wide on its hinges and she stood before him. He smelled **amazing**. Strong and succulent and

 _Alpha_.

Her knees buckled. He looked so damned good and smelled _oh god_ , absolutely _divine_. How had she never noticed how amazing he smelled?

_OH LITTLE OMEGA, ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR ALPHA?_

_Yes, oh yes, oh god alpha pleeeease!_

She didn’t know what to say, and had no idea how she conveyed her thoughts, but they practically whined to him as she hit her knees in front of him.

At the sight of her on her knees, John went rock hard. All pretense abandoned, all questions tabled, he picked her straight up unceremoniously over his shoulder, robe, towel and dripping woman all at once. Dog bolted into her old bedroom and slid his substantial hind quarters under the bed as John stalked to their bedroom and dropped her onto the quilt. Seeing her glistening and naked before him nearly had his knot popping already, but he growled low and covered her body with his, raking possessive hands up her sides and fisting in her hair, bucking his hips into hers and pressing against her so she could feel the effect she had on him.

She groaned feeling the long hard length of him, and as much as she felt warm, he was pumping off heat, his tightly corded muscles popping veins along his arms under the pushed-up sleeves of his Henley. Deirdre tried sliding her hands under his shirt, up his chest, but he yanked her hands back, clasping them in one of his, over her head. With a knee, he pressed her legs apart, wantonly wide, splayed for him so he could see her already glistening. As his possessive gaze raked over her, she shivered, her nipples going to peaks under his scrutiny –like an owner surveying the land he just bought—and she felt _claimed_. With his one free hand, John stroked himself through his pants, then flipped the button open and pulled one side of his fly to jerk the zipper down.

Deirdre fought the urge to squirm and lost. When she writhed, he clamped the hand holding her wrists harder and worked his cock out of his boxers with his free hand. For the first time she felt a flicker of fear seeing the size of him, even as another trickle of want slid down her slit. He looked at her from under a hank of hair that swept over his face as he leaned forward, pressing the tip against her swollen and glistening lips. Deirdre gasped as she felt him stretching her walls, the dull ache as he pressed in, still watching her. She wriggled again, almost defensively and he pulsed hard, sheathing himself halfway as she yipped, a little frisson of pain shooting through her.

 _Oh goddamn, you feel so fucking good little omega! What a tight little cunt you have. All for your alpha_.

He groaned, and his eyes rolled back a bit at the tight hotness he felt there. She started whining in earnest now, wanting to move against the pain, but also just wanting to _move_. He dropped her wrists at last and climbed fully onto her, stripping his shirt off and then pinning her knees back.

“I want you to watch me the first time I fuck you,” he ground out. Then pushed the rest of the way in.

She couldn’t help it, she screamed. Her walls were stretched so painfully tight that it felt like losing her virginity again. He stayed still a moment, watching her face scrunched up at the discomfort there, then reached down and started rubbing her clit in slow circles while he pulled part way out and pressed in again. He set up a slow, strong rhythm until he saw her start to relax. Then John started pumping in shorter, shallower strokes, less than three inches of girth stroking in while his dangerous thumb circled. It was a slow, torturous climb as he rubbed back and forth across her G-spot and strumming away at the sensitive nub too. The movements sent her writhing, wriggling, bucking against him, pleading for some kind of relief as she bucked again hard, and he sent her world spinning into blackness. Then he plunged right after her, that stretching pain again on the backside of pleasure, pumping again and again, harder and harder, slapping his hips against her ass while she was still reeling.

She could heard him grunting and coaxing her, in her head and out loud. _Oh yeah, **fuck**_! _So fucking good little omega, you’re so goddamn tight for me. So goddamn tight and just for your alpha. Ung!_ His hips pistoned faster, faster still as he let out a growl and lunged down, sinking teeth into her neck even as he fisted a hand in her hair again and yanked. He punched his cock right into her back wall, as he bit down. She screamed again, in pleasure and pain together, clamping hands in vain on his arms, pulling against him as they flexed over her. She lay pinned, eyes watering at the pressure when she felt something hot and liquid pulse into her. Once, twice, again. And then a thickening swell as he stretched her beyond what she already thought possible. _Oh god, is that--??_  She thought, dimly realizing what he’d done. But he was already lapping at the wound on her neck while she sniffled softly. He brought a hand down and squeezed her breast languidly and hummed his satisfied approval.

“Don’t move,” he said gruffly, “we’ll be like this for a while.”

He leveled his gaze to hers and saw the tears there. With grim understanding, he kissed them and peppered her face with more before kissing her fully on the mouth, a searing sweet dance of nipping teeth and savory tongue.

“Now you’re fully mine,” he said.


	9. Alpha and Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're *knot* done yet with the mating ;)

_A/N: since someone asked, Deirdre is pronounced “DEER-druh”_ _:)_

**Alpha et Omega**

 

 

Moving out of that position was a delicate process. In the end, John grabbed Deirdre by the hips and scooted them both together toward the pillows, which set her giggling, and in the afterglow she realized why he had made for the bedroom first before coming back to the bathroom. Thanks to his learning all he could about the alpha role, let alone his instincts there, John had brought up a charcuterie platter with several cheeses and meats, plus a few apple slices for more energy. Deirdre smiled at his thoughtfulness as he climbed on top of the bed with her, still joined to her, waiting for the knot to recede.

“Are you hungry?” he asked when he saw her eyeing the plate.

“No,” she said, her eyes going teary. “It’s just you always know what to do.”

He leaned down to touch his forehead to hers.

“The same way you feel compelled to do as I say and cater to me, I feel the same compulsion to take care of you any way I can.”

He cradled her face in his hands, placing soft kisses over her cheeks and lips as she traced her fingertips up and down his forearms. Drowsy with their sated desires, they took their time now, locked together as they were, and savored each other. Deirdre’s hands slid their way down his sides and back to reach under the pants and boxers that still hung loose on his hips; she cupped his ass in both hands and squeezed, pinching a bit at the bottom and causing him to flex against her. She could feel another small thread of spend pulse inside her as her walls clenched around it as if trying to absorb every ounce of him.

She traced lazy kisses across his bare collarbone while his lips left a blistering trail to her earlobe to suckle there a moment. He caught her hands in his and slowly drew himself out as his knot had regressed enough. Even slack, his penis was impressive in size. Deirdre marveled a bit at how he ever fit into her in the first place and pulled one hand away from his gentle grip to glide down and stroke at the still half-hardened girth. A single drip of cum glistened on the tip still, and she touched her fingertip to it, drawing it to her mouth. He watched raptly as she tasted his essence, taking her finger in to suckle at it. John’s lips parted, even as the glint came back in his eyes. Knowing that she stoked the fire there, Deirdre smiled and all but purred her contentment.

John pulled back long enough to step off the bed and divest himself of his clothes at last, while Deirdre climbed higher on the pillows to rest her back against the headboard.

“Oh no, you don’t,” John smiled lasciviously. He grabbed both of her thighs and yanked, drawing her down to the middle of the bed. He climbed on top of her, penis already growing and thickening again with want as he put both his knees almost under her armpits. His turgid length wavered slightly in front of her and he watched as her lips parted almost instinctively.

“That’s right,” he said leering. “Do this for alpha.”

_Alpha wants…ohhh! Yes. Do this for alpha. Big, strong alpha who brought you here for his own and took care of you. Take care of alpha now._

Recognition gleamed in her eyes as he began to stroke and knead her breasts, tweaking each nipple and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted his head at her, watching her slowly take a testing lap at the tip of him.

YES, LITTLE OMEGA. SUCK OFF YOUR ALPHA. JUST LIKE THAT, TAKE IT ALL.

Slick trickled down at the voice in her head and the compulsion to take him all at once had her rearing up with lips and tongue to try and fit him in her mouth. He sucked in a breath and growled, growing harder, knot swelling. As she slid him to the back of her throat, he fisted a hand in her hair and guided her further, almost to the gagging point, as she deep throated as much of his cock as she could fit.

AGGH! YESSS LITTLE OMEGA, WHAT A GOOD LITTLE FUCK YOU ARE. SUCK ME DRY.

She looked up and met his eyes, his long layered hair swing back and forth as he pumped slowly in and out of her mouth, her hair still locked in his grip.

“You look _so_ good like that,” he hissed, pumping into her mouth as she tilted her neck back to take a bit more.

A rush of slick oozed into a little puddle at his words, and her already pert nipples hardened at his voice urging her on. Deirdre reached up between his legs, palming his sac with one free hand and stroking against the sensitive flesh just behind it as she started bobbing her head back and forth along his shaft. He started chanting nonsense urgings and obscene things in a type of groaning rush.

“Yes fuck! So good little omega, just like that baby. Just like that,” he crooned with a guttural moan. “You can take all of me, what a good little whore you are for your alpha. God!”

She quickened her pace even as he fisted both hands in her hair, fucking her face for all he could but just before it went too far, he yanked her back abruptly and used the death grip on her hair to spin her over on all fours and mount her from behind. He plunged all at once right into her core, ramming up against her walls and setting up a punishing pace. John kept his grip on her hair as she noticed the mirror on the wall behind the bed. He was watching them from both sides, as he pistoned into her, his hips slapping her ass in a punishing rhythm. She watched him reaming away through the mirror, her own breasts bouncing from his efforts as he dropped one hand from her head and smacked her hard right across the backside.

Deirdre started keening in earnest at both pleasure and pain, her own chant set up in her head repeating over and over.

_Yes alpha, oh god alpha, pleeease. Fuck me alpha, knot me, make me your bitch. Please!_

It was the pleading chant in his head that set him over the edge. John grabbed her ass in a bruising grip and pounded into her, balls deep with every thrust. He flexed his fingers, holding her hips stationary and reached around to the sensitive nub right at the apex between them. With a couple of strokes Deirdre came on a scream, flexing and bucking from the force of her own ecstasy—strong enough that it hurt—nearly blacking out completely, as he kept circling his thumb even as she tried to push away from it.

“Alpha _please_!” she cried, begging for a release from the punishing orgasm that left her weak and limp.

With one last pulse of his hips, she felt the hot spurts of his spend, shooting threads of heat into her. He pulled her down onto her belly, while he stayed knotted deep inside her. Curling around her, he swiped her hair back from the sweat beading on her forehead and softly licked her gland. “You deep throat like a whore,” he purred into her ear. “I don’t know what betas had you before, but they didn’t know what a gift they got. No one will ever touch you again but me.”

He reached around to cop a possessive squeeze of her breast and nipped at her gland.

“Yes alpha.”

It would be hours yet before they finally sampled the platter by the bed, and a few more before they made love slowly after he brought up a pitcher of water. When he brought her to climax again, she reared up, nipping at his own gland and savoring the flavor of him from the blood that seeped out under her teeth. She licked at the wound, as he had done for hers, sealing it with her essence and bonding them forever. With her under him he felt not only sated that his little omega chose him, but finally and fully fulfilled in a way that he never had been before. The one shadow cast over the glow of it all, was the unfinished business he had yet to do.


	10. Dormiens Solis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little update and a little nugget :)

**D** **ormiens** **S** **olus**

 

 

 

Through the days of her heat they kept each other sated, but as it began, so it ended with Deirdre taking another tearful soak in the tub while John went out. She wanted so badly to keep him in their snug little harbor above it all, but she also knew that her alpha was not a man to leave things undone. He would not tuck his tail, nor would he wait for someone to show up at his door. He needed to finish this. And so she settled into a routine as days and then weeks passed, walking with Dog to the clearing where she practiced her shooting, reading through a nearly exhaustive library, taking a table for one at what they already thought of as “their” diner. Dragging Dog out to take the trash to the dumpster and circle back home again.

That’s exactly how she thought of it now—home. The first one she ever had, and the one she wanted to settle into with John. As the days passed, she found herself spending more and more time in her closet nest, having stuffed all of the clothing he gave her in there. It seemed to keep his scent concentrated in that small space, and made her feel the most secure. She napped there, read there, and Dog stayed close to her there as well. In fact, Dog got to the point where he would not let her out of his sight at all. He followed her to the bathroom, huffed out a breath and plopped onto any available rug nearby, whether on the bathmat, or the woven rug outside her closet.

One day while she came traipsing back to the house, Dog at her side, Deirdre came around a curve in the trail and found an older woman almost a head taller than her bearing down on her with an enormous canine beside her as well. Deirdre stiffened, unaware that anyone else inhabited the woods and not knowing if she was the trespasser, or if this strange woman was. The lady had not an unfriendly face, careworn with laugh lines, and steely grey hair. She wore men’s work boots and a thick flannel-lined Carhartt jacket to stave off the chill, a shotgun slung over her arm as well.

“Morning!” she said in a gravelly voice that rivaled Kathrine Hepburn’s, her eyes crinkled up in a smile. “Sounds like you got some good shooting in?”

As Deirdre drew level with her, she saw the woman’s nostrils flare, even as she picked up the lady’s scent as well. A strong tang of orange and clove with the clinging smell of cigars. _Alpha_. She knew without knowing how, but this tall, striking woman was definitely alpha. Her mind went back to what she knew about alphas—what the doctor had said about any alpha catching her scent. A small flicker of fear went down her spine even as the woman sniffed once.

“You must be John’s mate,” she smiled knowingly. “It’s about time he found himself an omega. No wonder you need shooting practice. He never said exactly what he was into, but it always seemed like whatever it was wasn’t good. I take it this is a sign he’s finally settling down though?”

Deirdre didn’t know what to say, and at any rate, it seemed her throat had closed up entirely. The lady seemed to take the hint and pressed no further. Dog stood stock still, gone to full attention at the sight of her big shaggy dog.

“This here is Dougal,” she said, patting the animal’s side, as it came up nearly to her waist. “He’s an Irish wolfhound, but they’re all gentle giants. And I’m Birdie Cranston. What’s your name, omega?”

She offered a hand to shake, and Deirdre took it limply. Both woman and dog were still far too intimidating.

“Ah-Deirdre,” she said, touching her hand to her chest in introduction once Birdie let go of it. “And this is Dog—we haven’t really…gotten around to naming him.”

Birdie’s eyebrows winged up, but she said nothing.

“Well congratulations on your new brood.”

Deirdre tilted her head and the alpha tapped her nose. “I can smell someone breeding nearly a quarter mile off. You may not be that far along, but I can still tell.”

Deirdre must have shown some degree of trepidation, or else she could smell the sharp scent of fear.

“My own mate is a dab hand at knitting. Marjorie. You must meet her, she’ll be all too glad to meet another omega and over the moon at the idea of baby blankets and bonnets.” She said this with a terse, but loving grin. “You can bring your dog, if your man’s not here to speak for you, but I doubt he’d mind anyway. We like John in these parts, whatever it is he gets into. He’s never brought trouble here.”

And with that, she went loping off in her unhurried stride, Dougal at her side, without a backward glance. Deirdre looked at Dog, who merely cocked his head as if to ask whether they would or wouldn’t be going. She tugged a strand of hair that had gotten loose from her cap, and going on impulse, stumbled a step or two trying to catch up to the older woman.

“Where do you live?” she said, trying to match her stride with Birdie’s. Despite the easy gait, Birdie was tall enough that her long legs still ate up quite a bit of ground. Sensing this, she slowed a bit more and smiled down at the younger woman.

“We’re another quarter mile back up this way, past your shooting range here.”

And sure enough, with a few more twists and turns they came out to a rambling cabin with a chimney chugging away like a smoke stack. The wide porch had a bevy of rockers and even a swing on one end. Dougal trotted right up the steps and pulled a rope on the front latch, opening the door himself as if to announce the visitors. Her trepidation eased with every step as she caught the smell of cooking; Dog must have smelled it too, for he quickened his pace and cantered along to catch up to Dougal. Her belly growled and Deirdre placed a hand over it, wondering if Birdie could be right about _breeding_. Could she really be carrying John’s child?


	11. Gravis Proelii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first hints of John's plan

_A/N: A short little update on John. Enjoy your holiday!_

**Gravis Proelii**

 

_When the Adjudicator warned Winston there would be all-out war, he did not take her words lightly by any means. By the time John landed on the street below, in that space of time where the Adjudicator seemed placated by his gesture at parlay, Winston and Charon began weaving a plan. John would be notified of course, as would others. As he said, this was New York. He made two phone calls, pocketed his phone again, and went back to his vault for another scotch._

 

* * *

 

 

Even as John reached the bus station, he had already been made. From the homeless guy on the corner as he got off the bus, to the one at the subway station on Broadway. By the time he hopped the purple line to Grand Central, reports were in. John Wick was on his way to the Bowery King again. Carrier pigeons swooped and glided overhead, going unnoticed amongst the hustle and grind below—mingling in the air among their untrained brethren—a bevy of low-tech messengers. John swapped routes and made it into the Bronx knowing that he was being watched. The fact that he hadn’t been attacked was a good sign, and he knew that this mode of transport might offer a modicum of protection, which was way better than taking any surface conveyance.

Either the Adjudicator, and thus the Elder, did not know he lived or Winston had won. He doubted the latter. John was never one to hedge his bets. For the past few weeks, whatever onslaught had come, Winston and the rest of the New York contingency held it off. Well, he was going to see if he could turn the tide squarely in their favor. Likely as not, Winston had a plan, and so too did John. But he needed the Bowery king first. There was no way he could go back to the Director—as she said, his ticket was stamped already.

He stepped into the cavernous underground in the belly of the subway terminal and found a new set up for the King’s residence. Rugs and an overstuffed chair, homeless people scurrying hither and yon, and those ever present pigeons.

“John!” the Bowery King said grandly as he was ushered into the room. “I heard you were here. Did you not want to drop by the old Continental though? Make a grander entrance?”

“I feared it might be…hostile,” John said pointedly, prompting a laugh from the King.

He threw his head back, overcome with mirth over such an understatement and upset the pigeon clinging to his shoulder. The fine lines of scarring that marred his dusky face grew more pronounced in the dim light of the chamber, and John had a feeling he knew what happened.

“Yes,” said the older man, noticing his gaze. “The Adjudicator’s _touch_ has been…everywhere. I’m afraid you will find much hostile ground between here and the Continental, and yet much friendly territory as well. I suppose you could say tensions have run high since you vacated the field of battle, and the Elder’s influence is much weakened given the measures he’s taken. He seems to have overstepped—several times. Power corrupts…”

“It’s time then that he learned there is necessary balance with the High Table.”

“Indeed. And with that said, what exactly do you need from me?” he said expansively as he reseated himself on his erstwhile throne.

“Passage,” John said simply.

The King rumbled in amusement, “subway? Or carrier pigeon?”

“I need to get to Morocco. Again,” John ground out, his patience thinning.

That steely glint flared in the Bowery King’s eye as understanding had him straightening from his repose. “Not to Sofia, surely. You smell like you’ve mated at last.”

John ignored the prodding comment and refused to confirm it. The Bowery King smelled her on him, certainly; once they mated, their scents mingled and changed. But that information would lie close to his vest, especially for the time being.

“No, not to Sofia. I’m going further afield.”

The King nodded sagely. “You found him once, you can do it again. But you don’t need me for conveyance. That’s the Director’s territory.”

“I fear she will not hear me. This time.”

“Ohhh John. But I’m sure she will see you all the way to where you want to go. And may even offer to help.”

The Bowery King’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“Why?”

“You’ll see John, you’ll see. And since you’re back, go ahead and call Winston’s burner—or feel free to use one of my birds—you two have much to discuss as well.”


	12. Quo Cognito Se

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit with the neighbors

**Quo Cognito Se**

 

 

 

Deirdre sat at one end of a rough hewn table, with a large mug of apple cider clasped in her hand. A wood burning stove in the corner made her earlier Catskills fantasy complete, while Maggie, Birdie’s fluffy-haired mate, fussed with sprinkling cinnamon and brown sugar on top of a steaming bowl of homemade oatmeal that she nudged in front of Deirdre. Between that and the cider, the kitchen was heavily scented with spice. It reminded her of John, and she sighed. On one wall of the long kitchen that spanned the width of the cabin, there were copper pots and pans hanging on the wall, mingling with Lodge cookware and a massive dry sink holding various crockery and cobalt colored apothecary jars. Hanks of chamomile, lavender, and rosemary hung from the exposed beams, drying in the warmth of the kitchen and adding an under layer of clean floral scent to the stronger one of spice.

“So how well do you all know John,” Deirdre piped up as she swirled her spoon through the thick, creamy oatmeal. Birdie walked in from opening their chicken pen since Dog showed no signs of giving chase. In fact he’d seemed more intimidated by the strange animals, and it was likely he never met a bird bigger than a pigeon in the city.

“Oh, at least what, five years?” she queried to Birdie, who sat down on Deirdre’s left with her own cup of cider.

“I believe so,” Maggie replied, sipping daintily at the brew. She reminded Deirdre of a plump, good natured sort of witch or wise woman—someone who made healing potions and love charms. “He used to bring his wife up for the quiet of the woods, for the fresh air…toward the end. He would go for long walks in the woods by himself and shoot sometimes. That’s how Birdie found him too…”

She trailed off, unsure whether she should continue, being that this was John’s new mate.

“He was searching,” Birdie said as she took her own seat at the table after spooning up a bowl of oatmeal for herself. “He was already mourning too, but even despite that he was so unsettled—like there was something else he couldn’t shake. He’s seen some bad times, that mate of yours, and he needs as much healing as you seem to. I’m thinking…you two need each other to cling to. You see, mating is about more than just that physical rut. It’s chemical, and physical, and downright spiritual. You find each other at the right time, no sooner, and everything just matches up.”

“That sounds very…fatalistic,” Deirdre replied. Even though it sounded almost preposterous, a shiver of resonance trickled down her spine. It was exactly how she felt when she first set eyes on John in the dim light of that alley. The scent of him permeating her skin already then, and the sharp glint in his eyes.

“It certainly does,” Maggie smiled, laying a hand on Birdie’s. “I was about to be married off when I ran away to Woodstock. I wanted to get in one last hurrah before my time came and my parents partnered me up. And there she was, on day three of the festival. My rock. The minute I laid eyes on her I knew. Then I caught her scent and I was done for.”

“That’s how it is,” Birdie added. “Not all alphas or omegas wind up mated, so as rare as we are, it’s that much more special when we do.”

Deirdre sighed again wistfully.

“He’s away, isn’t he?” Maggie asked knowingly.

“He is.”

“He’ll be back, child. Birdie here was a WAC for quite a while until she came home and joined the park service. I worried too then; I heard all the stories. I had friends who never came back from Vietnam. But my girl here did. John will be back too. He’s smart, and he’s capable. A true alpha.”

She patted Deirdre’s hand with her free one.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Deirdre spent her walk back to the house with Dog, fulminating on the conversation with their neighbors. She hadn’t left before Birdie pressed a pair of yellow knit booties into her hands and told her there was more where that came from. Deirdre didn’t have the heart to point out that if she really was pregnant, it would be a summer baby with no need for sweltering booties and such. She patted the top of Dog’s head as they broke through the tree line and aimed for the house.

The cooing of a pigeon caught her attention near the edge of the clearing, and for the first time, she noticed a dark brown dovecote that blended into the forest behind. A fat grey pigeon sat on one of the landing platforms, cooing and chirping, with a little backpack strung over his back and wings.

“Where in the world did you come from?” she marveled, gently reaching up to take the package without startling it.

The little pack held a message, hastily written in John’s cramped left-handed scrawl:

_I’ve made it safe, and things are well underway. Don’t write back this way. We can use this address for any future correspondence. It’s much safer that way, and best if it’s low key and low tech. Hope things are well with you and Dog. Take care of each other. J_

Below the message was a generic PO Box number with a Manhattan zip code. It was more than she expected, but still not enough. Deirdre swallowed the lump in her throat and daintily replaced the backpack while the pigeon pecked at some old seed scattered just inside the pigeonhole.

“Well, Doggo, we heard from Daddy,” she said, holding the paper down for Dog to sniff. “At least now we can write him. But actually, I think I have a better idea. We just need to take a pregnancy test first.”

 

 

 


	13. Moueretur Consilio Faciendam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short update on John

**Moueretur Consilio Faciendam**

 

 

 

John stalked up Broadway, of all places, in bright daylight. Any moment he expected to be accosted or at least shot at, but there was no report and no assailant. He wondered briefly if he was walking into a trap. The Bowery King urged him to go against his better judgement, and even when he walked into the theater lobby, the two Russian goons who were normally there had been replaced with two new scouts.

“Mr. Wick,” said the one at the desk in a thick Russian burr, “Director is waiting for you since you came back to town.”

The other one silently led the way, while the first stayed behind. Both of them were classic stock, straight from the wrestling ring and massive as a bear. As they stepped down the carpeted aisle, he saw the Director wave a hand and call to the dancers onstage. The briefest feeling of déjà vu swept through him, until he caught sight of her hand in the light. It looked as though it had been pierced through by something, and he grimly realized that it was the approximate size of a blade—just right for a katana, in fact. Slowly it dawned on him exactly why she might be more accommodating now. The wounds on the Bowery King, on her, told him just what the Adjudicator had been up to before the détente at the Continental. That little bitch had been busy. Fortunately for him, it meant more people ready to run her out of town. And also fortunately for everyone she was down at least three men. How many more would she have, beyond the ground troops she’d sent into the old hotel?

He stopped beside her, quietly waiting exactly as he was trained to do.

“Ostanovit',” she yelled, and the dancers froze. In the middle of the ring of dancers was one he saw on his previous visit, now with more tattoos and what appeared to be a couple of battle scars. So she’d had to send out the novices, he reasoned.

The Director raised her eyes to his. “Jordani,” she drawled, “come.”

And with that, she raised herself and led the way to the theater cellars and their coffers, hidden in the vault below.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why are we down here,” he asked after they wound and wended their way below the theater. He was dimly aware of the not too distant rumble of the subway several feet away.

“I have no doubt you have funds for travel,” she replied tersely, “but novices will need coin too.”

“What novices?” he asked, his brow wrinkling.

“You insist on travel alone?” she queried.

“You want me to have an escort?” he was trying desperately to understand her reasoning. Obviously the Director had no problem sending him, and must have been told where, but why send novices too, he wondered.

“This,” she hissed sharply, raising both hands to his gaze. She held them both, side by side so he could see the backs of both. They looked as though a blade pierced clear through each of them, and suddenly he understood. She was seeking retribution through him. And sending novices to put her stamp on it. Her touch would be felt wherever the battle played out.

“This girl working above table,” The Director continued, “needs lesson in diplomacy. You will take novices to Morocco; all my professional staff, they already killed. Find Elder. Find Adjudicator. Kill both. For me.”

At this her lip quivered, and for the first time ever he realized that she could be shaken, and had been. She looked down, lowering her hands and touching his, where his ring finger had been. “She takes pieces of everyone. Take a piece of her too.”

And with that, he found himself back on a plane to Morocco, with four of the students who appeared to be already battle-hardened. Two men and two women, all trained to be adaptable fighters. By the time the chartered jet touched down, he knew their mission was to spread the battle lines right up to the Elder’s door and bring the fight to him and his men. So be it, thought John grimly, if nothing else they could keep his goons busy. He wanted the Elder for himself. And frankly, if that went well enough, he would hand deliver the Adjudicator to whomever wanted her.

 


	14. Patefactio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things are starting to unfold for them both

A/N: Lugh is pronounce Lou. Just the Celtic way! And yes, our favorite couple will be back together before much longer. There is a plan.

 

 

 

**Patefactio**

 

Deirdre’s to-read books piled up under the recommendations of both Birdie and Maggie. From Maggie, whose parents were Irish, she got books of Celtic myths, some trashy alpha and omega themed romance novels, while Birdie’s offerings were much more practical—Foxfire books that outlined old mountain practices like soap or candle making, plus herbal remedies, gardening, and some local history. Both ladies took Deirdre under their wing, and her days were full of Birdie showing her how to track and hunt with John’s guns or tend the winter garden they started cultivating together; she spent her evenings cozied up on their hearthrug next to the stove with the dogs while she painstakingly followed Maggie’s knitting instructions. With the both of them, she found a comfort and belonging she never knew before. Deirdre busied herself with a baby blanket even at home on her solitary days when Birdie’s arthritis was acting up or Maggie went to town, but even then she knew they were a short walk away.

Yet on this day, she ventured out with her ever-present guard dog, who finally found a name. Lugh. It suited him as a fierce protector and John’s champion. Deirdre had found it in one of Maggie’s mythology books and thought it fit perfectly. When she pulled into the post office with Lugh, she cracked the window a bit for him and told him she’d be back to take him for a trip to Trudy’s Diner, where he was welcome in one of the back booths on slow days. It was a very small, nondescript parcel she mailed to the PO Box John had given her, but that little package held a lot of hope.

 

* * *

 

 

John meanwhile stepped off the chartered jet onto the tarmac in Casablanca with the four neophytes trailing behind. They stuck out, all of them, but as they passed people stepped aside. Clearly the local talent still remembered his last visit and how it ended. Except many more of Berrada’s henchmen should have swarmed them by now. He wondered briefly what Sofia had been up to, his neck hairs prickling at the quiet reception they encountered here. It was downright eerie.

“Stick close,” he clipped unnecessarily as they drew near the entrance to the Continental Morocco.  In all likelihood, the weapon aimed at his head might very well be hers this time.

The door swung wide, the valet he remembered smiling.

“Welcome, Mr Wick,” he said broadly, gesturing to them all to come into the courtyard. “Mistress Sofia has been expecting you.”

John nodded, surmising that she had taken over in the aftermath of Berrada’s demise, and followed the man across the courtyard, holding up a palm to articulate silently that the rest should fall behind and cover the courtyard. He still wasn’t sure what that would entail, and whether she would be receptive or whether she was luring him into her web.

When John entered her quarters however, it was to find the two great beasts of hers still seated at her feet and her eyes as they tracked him across the carpeted floor held nary a glimpse of malice.

“Sofia—“ he began, only to be cut short when she spoke.

“I suppose I should thank you John,” she answered, “you pushed me into a sort of early retirement.”

John stopped short at this. She gestured for him to sit and sipped the glass of water she lifted from an end table nearby.

“Things got a little noisy when I got back here,” she continued, “some of Berrada’s men thought they would fill the void he left behind. But…amidst all the chaos of them posturing, enough others conceded to me as his usurper, and I had a sizeable enough faction to take control.”

She ground out the last words, and he knew that the battle had been tough and bloody, leaving her full of street cred enough to have anyone local eating out of her palm for the foreseeable future. She earned it, and she did it without him after he left without a backward glance.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help, but—“

“I didn’t need it, but I can relax at last, and you are the reason for instigating that. But now I still need something from you. And I think you need something from me too. Don’t you John?”

“I do.”

“Name. It.”

“I need to find the Elder. Again.”

“And I need to find my daughter. Finally,” she finished, choking back a sob. Her eyes watered and he saw his leverage, and his way through. Alpha though she may be, alphas did not do lonely. She needed her pack, and her daughter completed the pack.

He had brought destruction to Sofia, he knew, but that was mixed with a way to escape the lifestyle. As manager of the hotel she would no longer field contracts and never again have to look over her shoulder. In exchange for what she wanted though, he could find a way to the Elder again, and they would be square. One thing niggled at him though.

“The Elder did not see fit to send an Adjudicator?”

“She came. Snotty as she is, she was fair. He shot my dog, I shot him, and she understood the implications of him trying to take what’s mine. He tried to take my dog’s life, I took his.”

Sofia shrugged and took another long swallow of water.

“I wouldn’t have expected it of her.”

“I’m sure he knows I could find him again—the Elder—and that I could do it again. So he called off his dog. I dropped you so close last time that it made me curious how he wanders and yet always knows who’s trying to find him. And I figured it out.”

John leaned forward in his chair. This, the absolute crux of what he wanted, she held in the palm of her hand.

“But first…my daughter.”

“She’s in Switzerland,” he answered, placatingly, spreading his fingers wide, opened palmed and knowing she would realize the implication of using a neutral country.

“Of course,” she said softly. “The country is consecrated and a no man’s land. She could go to school safely there, and no one could touch her.”

“There are only two elite boarding schools in Zurich, I’m sure you can find which one.”

“And I am certain that you can find my _favorite_ hacker to check which abandoned satellite systems are tracking movement from the desert. With that being the source of their control, it would be easy to reverse track that system of satellites and pinpoint a GPS location at any given time. As low tech as he likes to have everything below table, he gets pretty high tech when it comes to keeping us under his thumb from above table. Ironic, no?”

“I think I know just how to sweeten the pot for your hacker, too.”

“Good luck with the Elder, John, you’re still gonna need it.”

“One last thing,” he asked, rising. “Where is the Adjudicator?”


End file.
